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Images via Kinfolk
Gird your loins and fortify your fannies, folks, because this Waist Bag from Nanamica is straight up unapologetic Dadcore at its finest. If we’re acquainted IRL, you’re most likely aware that I sport a fanny pack on the reg, without even the slightest hint of irony. I’m a modern man, with serious everyday carry (or EDC as all the cool internet guys call it) needs, hence my love for waist borne packs, particularly this Nanamica joint, which is made in Japan from 100% nylon. The best thing about it is the relatively short strap, preventing it from being converted into a crossbody, also known as the No, It’s Not A Fanny Pack LMAO WUT?! Bag. Miss me with that fashionista bullshit. I’m all about rocking saggy sacks upon my hips, because I keeps it real, dawg. How real, you ask? Don’t question me, imagined audience member, for I am the Alpha and Omega of the waist bag game. I looked, and behold, a pale fanny pack; and the dude who rocked it was a true G; and all of Instagram followed with him. What’s 160 USD in denarii? According to my research, probably like 3 denarii (or about 30-48 asses ROFL). Ancient currencies are hella lit. Put that shit in your Second Punic War and smoke it. Man, where’s this post supposed to go from here? I feel like I’m up my stream of consciousness without a paddle, bruh. Once you’ve touched on the Book of Revelations and The Hannibalic War, it’s pretty tough to circle back to chat about EDC and whatnot. You ever see the 2004 comedy Without a Paddle? I haven’t, but I'm running out of potential avenues to go down and random references to critically panned films is usually a solid solution to any and all writing problems. Hell yeah: reached my minimum word count without a single mention of the Game of Thrones series finale. Take that, cultural relevance -RB
Images via Neighbour
Cymru am byth, bitches! This Welsh check 444 Long Sleeve Boomerang Shirt from English workwear wunderkind William Kroll’s Tender Co. is a bit of pure British badassery, innit? Better grab a fistful of leeks and dandelions, mate, because the construction on this piece is right fucking tidy, from the neat little stand collar to the bloody massive patch pockets. Unlike the bulk of workwear brands, which are inspired by classic Americana, Tender takes its aesthetic cues from Victorian engineering and the Second Industrial Revolution (a.k.a. the Technological Revolution). The First Industrial Revolution saw the introduction of many garment-related mechanical advancements, such as sewing machines, power looms, spinning frames, and flying shuttles (for weaving, not space travel), but it makes a poor source of modern fashion inspo, unless you fuck heavily with waistcoats and cravats and the like. No offense intended to all you dandies out there; I just don’t get down with corsets. The Second Industrial Revolution was all about iron, steel, and steam, with a massive increase in mechanization and an explosion of railway development. It’s a pretty cool backdrop for Tender Co., which produces some of the workwear world’s most meticulously crafted goods. If you’d like to learn more about the brands ethos and process, check out some interviews with William (linked here, here, here, here, and here, for your browsing convenience). Wow, this post is in danger of being almost entirely informative. Time to remedy that. Have you ever considered abandoning your friends, family, and career to pursue your lifelong dream of training hamsters and/or other small domesticated rodents to perform abstract theater? Please answer honestly; I’ll know if you’re lying. I’m quite intuitive that way. Keep in mind that the hamsters or gerbils (or chinchillas if you want to get all exotic with it) won’t be able to read lines, due to their inability to speak English or any other language other than high-pitched squeaks, making it somewhat challenging to put on a Rodentia rendition of your favorite Shakespeare play, unless that play happens to be The Taming of the Shrew. Booyah! Nailed that fucking pun. The Bard would be proud. End of post -RB
Images via Oi Polloi
Let’s all give a big Owen Wilson “Wow!” for this PL Dungaree Short Sleeve Over Shirt from And Wander, because it’s so easy to love, much like Owen’s hit comedy You, Me and Dupree, a film whose only flaw is the missing Oxford comma in its title. Any movie with a Wikipedia entry featuring a subsection entitled “Steely Dan response” is worthy of lavish critical praise. I doff my cap to the entire cast and crew, for they are the true heroes of our society. You hear that, firefighters? Back to the shirt: it’s made in Japan from “quick-drying PrimaLoft fabric”, which sounds pretty badass, even if I’m not entirely sure what that entails. It’s got underarm ventilation holes, which is super clutch for sweaty boyz like me, and a carabiner loop on the chest pocket, which is super clutch for people who need carabiner loops, whoever those people happen to be. I’m not a mountaineer, nor do I know many people who would self-describe as mountaineers. Are you a mountain man, dear reader? How long is your beard? How scratchy is your flannel? How sharp is your hatchet? Do you know the Muffin Man? What is the nature of your relationship with the Muffin Man? Are y’all close? Would you consider him an acquaintance or a friend? A close friend? Is he going to be one of your groomsmen? I only ask, because I’m supposed to RSVP in the next few days and I don’t know if I can make it if that fake cupcake ass son of a bitch is going to be there. I can’t even walk down Drury Lane anymore, for fear of running into that rat bastard. I mean, we all know the Muffin Man, but I know him better than most. I know him better than I would like to. I know secrets that fucker would probably kill to keep secret. You think those are blueberries you’re eating? Think again, fuckstick. Hope your aforementioned hatchet is sharp enough to cut through quick bread, bitch -RB
Images via Division Road
Lock up your priceless artifacts, world, because I’m about to scoop up one of these Archive Twin Track Jackets from Private White VC x Division Road and get my off-brand Indiana Jones on. Inspired by 1930s British motorcycle jackets and military field jackets, this waxed cotton beauty is purpose-built for swashbuckling, quasi-archeological adventures. It features a removable center placket and removable throat flap, because customization is the name of the game when you’re a globe-trotting explorer with a devil may care attitude, million dollar smirk, and prehensile bullwhip. I consider it to be a major personal failing that I cannot be (and have never been able to be) described as “swashbuckling”, although I did at one point, in my freshman year of college, purchase an eye patch and start wearing it to parties, coming up with a new injury or illness-related backstory for it any time I was asked and switching eyes when no one was looking. I was going through my quirky side-character in a teen movie where are the teens are played by twenty-seven year olds phase. Also, I was beset on all sides by the inequity of generalized anxiety disorder and the tyranny of boundless self-loathing. Obviously that’s all in the past. I’m fine now. No lingering issues here. I don’t even know why you’d think that. You’re probably projecting. It’s a defense mechanism. Everybody does it. Except me. I have nothing to be defensive about. I’m not an imposter, haunted by the fear of failure and the specter of my own inadequacy. Unhand me, personal demons! The power of my vices compels you! Goddamn, I totally planned on this post being mostly about the exploits of a fictionalized archaeologist version of myself, but I got a little sidetracked. Things got kind of dark there and I apologize. So, if you’ve got 875 USD kicking around, go ahead and cop that jacket. Don’t do it for me. Do it for the fictionalized archaeologist version of yourself -RB
Images via Couverture & The Garbstore
Humans of the interwebz, behold the fluffy ass majesty of this YMC Beach Jacket and see that it is good. This masterpiece of fleece (masterfleece) features a shawl collar (which is flames) and Corozo buttons made from the nuts of a tropical palm (palm nuts lol). Plus it makes you look like you’re wearing a bathmat, which is a style I unironically enjoy (Toftbo chic). You never know when you’re going to have to fully camouflage yourself on the bathroom floor of a broke twentysomething’s first apartment. In that case, you either have to buy this jacket or learn how to make your own ghillie suit, which seems like a pretty involved process. Fun fact: Australians call them “yowie suits”, due to their resemblance to the yowie, which is their version of the Bigfoot/Yeti/Sasquatch, not an exclamation to be shouted post toe-stubbing. What is it about big, mysterious, hairy men wandering through the woods that just seems to set the human imagination ablaze? I’m not trying to get into a detailed examination of the psychology behind persistent cryptozoological legends, but, damn, we love that shit. Rational assessment of the observable universe? Two thumbs down. Big ole hairy ape men? Sign me right the fuck up. We are strange creatures, far stranger than the myths we make up to frighten ourselves. The stink of the caves we crawled out of is still upon us. The reek of our primitive past clings to our species like mold on a half-eaten sandwich, forgotten in the back of the fridge. Clean your fridge, humanity! Clean your goddamn fridge! It’s starting to smell like old gym socks and crushing existential regret in there. Okay, good talk. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to hunt down the Mothman so we can discuss that shitty Richard Gere movie about him. Side note: why are we gendering transdimensional psy-creatures? Can't we just call it the Mothperson? Somebody get Gloria Allred on the case -RB
Images via Union
Fam, I’m about to drop a solid rack on these Exit Boots from OAMC and commence a campaign of ruthlessly stomping on the toes of all my enemies. Dear enemies, you remember that delightful Off-Broadway show STOMP? Well, you better, because it’s going to be exactly like that, but focused entirely on your toes. Make sure to read the word “enemies” in a 2Pac voice. Drinkin’ Hennessy! Exactly. You might think 970 USD beige boots would be inappropriate for use in sprees of vengeful violence and you might be right. Will these boots still look good when coated with a fine mist of human blood? Only time will tell. Yeah, motherfuckers, welcome to the reborn TTAG Blog. It’s lean, mean, and about as grimdark as the actual state of affairs in this godforsaken country. This version of the TTAG Blog is the fashion website equivalent of that one good part of the Batman v. Superman trailer when Batman was all “Do you bleed? YOU WILL!” and shit. Wait, I take that back; under no circumstances should you associate this blog with that film. You know what would have made that movie better? If 2Pac had been in it. Just CGI his ass right in there. Or give him a call down in Cuba or wherever the fuck he’s hiding out. Maybe he’s over at Richard Simmons’ house, also being held hostage by the maid. Make a podcast about that one, why dontcha? Regardless of the current location of Tupac Shakur, I can guarantee you this: the TTAG Blog will continue to bring you the extremely expensive and outlandishly ostentatious garments you’ve come to expect, in the curiously cryptic and puzzlingly pointless manner you’ve come to tolerate. I make this pledge in good faith, knowing full well that I might immediately fail to honor it. I mean what I say, even when I’m lying. Does that make me a bad person? Think about the health and safety of your toes before you answer that. My stomping shoes are in the mail -RB
Images via H. Lorenzo
It’s the ball soup days of summer, so naturally I have to recommend purchasing one of these Intarsia ‘Double’ Pullovers from Y/Project. I’ve been brining in my own juices for the past few days and it’s only served to intensify my contrarian flavors. Life seems content to cook me low and slow, until my collagen starts to break down and I reach optimal tenderness. As long as I don’t dry out, I’m going to be delicious, downright succulent perhaps. I’d pair me with a nice, hoppy pale ale or even a crisp, malty pilsner. Nothing too bitter or overpowering; something sessionable, for sure. Never get drunk and commit cannibalism. That’s one of those cardinal rules by which everyone should abide. That and “Gas, grass, or ass. Nobody rides for free”. You should consider making that your catchphrase if you buy one of these 725 USD double shirts, since the back half is modeled after the drug rugs (also known by their more technical name “baja jackets” or their Spanish name “sudadera de jerga”) commonly worn by pothead skaters, collegiate weed dealers, and that one shady acquaintance your friend’s friend keeps bringing to parties. As Vice so breathlessly informs us, the baja hoodie has been appropriated by high fashion, with runway looks inspired by that guy in your dorm who smells like stale marijuana, fresh marijuana, and, somehow, future marijuana. And patchouli. I’m well aware that it’s a cliche, but there’s no way that fucking guy doesn’t smell like patchouli. Feel free to complain about my closed-mindedness at the next Phish show or hacky sack circle. I’m hot, sweaty, and ornery right now. I don’t care who I offend. I’m not a big fan of mint chocolate chip ice cream. And I think Bill Nye is overrated. Come at me, bro -RB
6/28/2018
SUNNEI V-NECKS & WHAT BRENT WOULD DO
Images via Neighbour
I’m going to strongly recommend copping this Shirt with Knitted V-Neck from Sunnei, especially if you’re an avid fan of lawn sports like croquet or bocce. You know, like fancy lawn sports. Not lawn darts or cornhole. Horseshoes can go either way. Pretend your name is Chad or Chet or Brent and imagine what game you’d play on an idyllic summer day, out on Nantucket or some similar posh ass vacation destination where the word “yachting” still means going out on a really nice boat and not when celebrities on the downswing moonlight as high class prostitutes. Chad, Chet, or Brent will never steer you wrong. Except when he puts driftwood on the beachside bonfire. Yeah, the colors are super cool, but the toxic dioxins are not. They’re just carcinogenic. You tell this to Chad/Chet/Brent, but he doesn’t listen. He cracks another beer and turns up the trap music (played semi-ironically, of course). He always gets this way when he drinks. He’s been getting drunk a lot lately. Ever since last summer, when we accidentally vehicular manslaughtered that random fisherman. Then we found all those crabs in the trunk of Chad/Chet/Brent’s Audi. I wonder if all that stuff is connected. Anyway, back to this shirt: it’s one hundred percent cotton and made in Italy. It’s the kind of shirt you wear when your second car is a Vespa and your first car is also a Vespa. It’s the kind of shirt you wear when -- hold on, I think someone’s at the door. Let me go check. Weird. No one’s there. I could have sworn it sounded like... never mind, where was I? Oh yeah, this is the kind of shirt you wear when -- shit, there it is again. So sorry about all these interruptions. I’ll be right back -RB
Images via KITH
Holy lengthy titles, Batman, this 7 Moncler Fragment Hiroshi Fujiwara Maze Giubbotto is a gawd level garment that you should buy in lieu of paying your rent. It costs 1070 USD, so if you’re the best in the business at some sort of criminal enterprise -- bank robberies, casino heists, securities fraud -- I recommend taking that one last job, no matter how suicidal or convoluted it sounds. Hopefully you’re not too old for this shit. Even if you are, it’s still probably worth a shot. Yes, you will have to deal with a wisecracking colleague with whom you seem completely mismatched, but if you give the relationship some time, you’ll likely find yourselves bonded for life. Or at least for a couple of sequels, provided the first one performs well at the box office. If that happens, then you’ll definitely be able to drop a whole rack on a shacket. Making that mailbox money. Like Topher Grace. That dude’s life seems pretty sweet. I wouldn’t really know, but I’m going to go ahead and assume that Topher Grace leads a solid existence. He can correct me if I’m wrong, but he’s probably not reading this and I’m probably not wrong. Where does one go after bringing up Topher Grace in a blog post? A heartfelt That 70s Show reference? A cruel Spider-Man 3 jab? An oblique Traffic callback? Nope! Remember in Predators when he was a serial killer and rapist? That was kind of nuts. Oh, spoiler alert, I guess. Hope I didn’t ruin the ending of that eight year old movie for you. Bruce Willis is actually a ghost the whole time. Darth Vader is Luke’s dad. Lindsay Lohan is identical twins with herself and either one or both of them is getting killed by a sadistic torture murderer or something. I’m not sure whether I’m recalling that film correctly, but I think I’ve spoiled it nonetheless. You’re welcome -RB
Images via Idol
Happy belated Pride, mes amis! Let’s celebrate the diversity of human experience with this 450 USD Multi Border Prisoner Jacket from Human Made, because what are humans, if not prisoners, marooned on this planetary Alcatraz we call Earth. This ever-spinning stone, hurtling through the void, endlessly circling. There is no escape. Woe is us. But this is supposed to be a party, not a funeral. Our species is enjoying itself. Despite the omnipresent threat of destruction, we soldier on. We live, we laugh, we love. We wear expensive jackets. We make and watch television shows about each other’s strange careers, strange addictions, and strange taste in romantic partners. We employ parallelism to make long lists that eat up word count. We all have dreams. One of my dreams is to hang all of my t-shirts, instead of poorly folding and hastily cramming them into my chest of drawers. Imagine hanging all your t-shirts. Picture it in your mind’s eye. Does that thought bring you a borderline irrational level of comfort? Are any of your obsessions and/or compulsions becoming aroused? Are you building a spreadsheet that comprehensively lists your t-shirts and breaks them down by color and brand? We can control our lives with spreadsheets. Let them govern your every choice. They bring order to the chaos of the universe. Row, column, cell. Proton, neutron, electron. Earth, wind, fire. God, devil, man. Infinitely organize your everything and touch the face of the divine. Discover the formula to calculate the complex equation that is your being. You ever see that movie Pi? Do that stuff. I haven’t seen that film in a while, but I seem to remember things working out great for the protagonist. Feel free to correct me in the comments, but do so with the full knowledge that I will not change my opinion regardless of the evidence -RB
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